


Purity

by Capucine



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Bittersweet, Drabble, Gen, Platonic Female/Male Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 06:51:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4091119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capucine/pseuds/Capucine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>France has never seen anyone like Jeanne--and he knows he will never meet anyone quite like her again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Purity

**Author's Note:**

> Just my thoughts. I've been doing research on Jeanne D'arc/Joan of Arc. I think she actually had like, brown or blackish hair, but eh. Gotta to stick with canon.

Her hair was blonde, and shorn short. But France knew there would never be another like her.

In his leggy, scrawny youth, he had touched her arm, telling her, “I will kiss you. Please let me.” He'd leaned in lips pursed in that way that only young lovers, new to kissing, did. She'd put one finger on his lips, holding them back.

“I belong to God,” she said firmly.

He'd felt rejected, and at first he'd been a little upset. He was a good boy, he was the country himself! Surely she could make an exception...

But she would not. She turned down every one of his advances, never more than the clumsy advances of a teenager boy.

That was when he learned to let it go, and appreciate Jeanne for what she was: a savior, a saint, and a true friend. They talked for hours when they should have been sleeping, when they were both exhausted from fighting and winning.

They would sit together, and he would do the little things, like make her a flower crown to wear in her hair where the soldiers wouldn't see. She would rebuke him for any curses, and he would curb his language and say something sweet about her instead.

He never thought it would end the way it did.

He looked back on that time, and wished he had known from the beginning that Jeanne was too pure to be tainted by his hands. With anyone else, it was love; with her, it was sullying her. It was a strange paradox in his mind: intercourse and the like was not wrong, except when it came to her.

He still pictured her in his mind, sweaty, grimy, head to toe covered in armor. 

And the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.


End file.
